"Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. Without the protection of John’s star power, certain denizens of the school found new reserves of energy and turned their attention to her, especially Kate Pfister, a bleach blonde with a face that was a plain sort of pretty who had once dated John. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. But that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses.
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